The Dark Hours (27 page)

Ballard held off on calling Hannah Stovall until she had a plan that she could confidently share with her. Strategizing the moves she would make, she drove the rest of the way into the city in silence, with the exception of a short call to Harry Bosch. She knew if there was no one else to back her play, there would always be Bosch. She asked him to stand by without telling him what he would be standing by for, and he didn’t object. He simply said he would be ready and waiting for anything, that he had her back.

She got into Hollywood shortly after 1 p.m., took Melrose to North Citrus Avenue, and turned south to cruise by the streetlight in front of the address Carl Schaeffer had given. She did not slow as she passed. She just surveyed and kept moving. Citrus was on the outer edges of what could be considered Hancock Park. It was on the west side of Highland, and the houses here were smaller postwar family homes with single-car garages. Slowly the neighborhood was being infiltrated by redevelopment, which came in the form of two-story cubes being built to the limits of the lot and then walled and gated. Next to the single-level Spanish-style homes that originally populated the neighborhood, the redevelopment looked sterile, soulless.

As she drove, Ballard checked the vehicles parked curbside for
any signs of surveillance but saw nothing that indicated that the Midnight Men might be watching their next victim. At Beverly, she turned right, made a U-turn when she could, and then came back to Citrus. She headed back up the street the way she had come. This time when she passed the streetlight in question, she glanced at the plate at the bottom of the post to check for any sign of tampering. She saw nothing, but she had not expected to.

Back on Melrose she turned right and immediately parked at the curb in front of Osteria Mozza. The popular restaurant was closed due to Covid, and parking at the moment was plentiful. She pulled up her mask, got out, and opened the hatch. She got Pinto out of his crate and snapped on his leash. She then walked the dog back toward Citrus, taking a return call from John Welborne while on the way. He supplied Hannah Stovall’s phone number and the additional intel that she was most likely home at the moment because she was working from home during the pandemic.

Ballard turned south on Citrus and started down the street on the west side — which would take her by the streetlight. She took it slow, allowing the dog to set the pace while sniffing and marking his way down the street. The only tell she might have given — if the Midnight Men were watching — was to pull Pinto away from the streetlight in question so that he would not mark it and possibly destroy evidence.

Ballard surreptitiously checked the house where Hannah Stovall lived. There was no car in the driveway, and the garage was closed. Ballard noted that it was an attached garage that surely had internal access to the house, just as with the home of Cindy Carpenter.

Ballard kept walking and at Oakwood crossed Citrus and turned back north, walking the other side of the street like a pet owner wanting to give her dog new lawns to sniff and mark.

She checked the dashboard clock after she got back to the Defender. It was two-thirty and possibly a little early to start her plan. She also had Pinto to consider.

There was an overnight dog kennel on Santa Monica Boulevard near the Hollywood Station. She had used it on occasion for Lola and knew it to be clean and welcoming and not too crowded. Best of all, she would be able to use her phone to access the camera in the so-called playroom to check on Pinto.

It took an hour to get to Dog House, start a new account, and put Pinto up for the night. Ballard’s heart hurt as she realized the dog might think he was being rejected and turned back in to a shelter. She hugged him and promised to come back the next day, assuring herself more than the dog.

Her parking place in front of Mozza had gone unclaimed and she pulled back in shortly before four, adjusting her mirrors so she could pick up any vehicles coming out of North Citrus Avenue behind her. She then made the initial call to Hannah Stovall and the strategy she had formulated kicked into gear.

Her call was picked up right away.

“Hello, I’m looking for Hannah Stovall.”

“That’s me. Who’s this?”

“I’m calling about the report of a streetlight that is out on your street?”

“Oh, yes. Right in front of my house.”

“And how long would you estimate that it has been out?”

“Just since yesterday. I know it was working Saturday because it shines over the top of my shades in my bedroom. It’s like a night-light for me. I noticed it was gone last night and I emailed Martha Welborne this morning. This seems to be a lot of attention for one little streetlight. What’s going on?”

“My name is Renée Ballard. I’m a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. I don’t want to scare you, Ms.
Stovall, but I believe someone may be planning to break into your home.”

Ballard knew no gentler way to put it, but as she expected, Stovall reacted with extreme alarm.

“Oh my god — who?”

“I don’t know that but — ”

“Then how do you know? You just call people up and scare the shit out of them? This doesn’t make sense. How do I know you’re even a cop? A detective or whatever you say you are.”

Ballard had anticipated having to prove who she was to this woman.

“Is this number a cell phone?” she asked.

“Yes,” Stovall said. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Because I’m going to hang up and text you photos of my police ID and my badge. Then I’ll call you back and explain what’s going on in fuller detail. Okay, Ms. Stovall?”

“Yes, send the text. Whatever this is, I want it to be over.”

“So do I, Ms. Stovall. I’m disconnecting now and will call you back.”

Ballard ended the call, pulled up photos of her badge and police ID, and texted them to Stovall. She waited a few minutes for them to land and be viewed, then called back.

“Hello.”

“Hannah — can I call you Hannah?”

“Sure, fine, just tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, but I’m not going to sugarcoat this, because I need your help. There are two men out there targeting women in the Hollywood area. They invade their homes in the middle of the night and assault them. We believe they knock out the streetlights near the victim’s home a night or two before the attack.”

There was a long silence only punctuated by the repeated intake of breath.

“Hannah, are you all right?”

Nothing.

“Hannah?”

Finally she came back with words.

“Are they the Midnight Men?”

“Yes, Hannah.”

“Then why aren’t you here right now? Why am I alone?”

“Because they might be watching you. If we make a show, we lose the chance to capture them and end this.”

“You’re using me as bait? Oh my fucking god!”

“No, Hannah. You’re not bait. We have a plan to keep you safe. Again, that’s why I’m calling you instead of showing up. There’s a plan. I want to tell it to you but I need you to be calm. There is no reason to panic. They don’t come during the day. They — ”

“You said they could be watching.”

“But they are not going to break in during daylight hours. It’s too dangerous for them, and the fact that your light is out proves they’re coming at night. Do you understand?”

No answer.

“Hannah, do you understand?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“Good, Hannah. Stay calm. In an hour this will be over for you and you’ll be safe.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Now, this is what I want you to do. You keep your car in your garage, right?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of car is it? What color?”

“It’s an Audi A-six. Silver.”

“Okay, and where do you do your grocery shopping?”

“I don’t understand, why are you asking me this?”

“Just bear with me, Hannah. Where do you shop?”

“Usually at the Pavilions on Vine. Melrose and Vine.”

Ballard was not familiar with the store but immediately computed that this was a different location from the markets frequented by the other three victims of the Midnight Men.

“Is there a coffee shop inside?”

“There’s a Starbucks.”

“Okay, what I want you to do is get in your car and go to Pavilions. If you have reusable bags, carry one of them in like you’re going to do some light shopping. But first go to the Starbucks. I will meet you there.”

“I have to leave here?”

“It’s going to be safest if you are not there tonight, Hannah. I want to get you out without anything looking unusual. You are just going to the store to pick up a coffee and some dinner. Okay?”

“I guess. Then what?”

“I’ll meet you there, we’ll talk some more, and then I’ll put you in the hands of another detective, who will make sure you are guarded and safe until this is over.”

“When should I leave?”

“As soon as you can. You drive up to Melrose and go right and head to the store. You’ll pass me and I’ll be able to tell if you are followed. Then I’ll meet you at the Starbucks. Can you do this, Hannah?”

“Yes. I told you I could.”

“Good. Put a toothbrush and anything you might need for an overnight stay in the reusable bag. But don’t take a lot. You don’t want it to stand out.”

“Well, I’ll need my computer. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Okay, your computer is fine. Make it look like you are carrying more bags inside the one you’re carrying.”

“Got it.”

“And what about a mask? What color do you have?”

“Black.”

“Black is good. Wear that.”

Ballard knew she would have to wear her LAPD mask inside out.

“Okay, one other thing, Hannah.”

Ballard looked down at what she was wearing. Because she had come straight from Acton, she was casually dressed, in jeans and a white oxford borrowed from Single.

“Do you have a pair of jeans and white blouse you can wear?” she asked.

“Uh, I have jeans,” Stovall said. “I know everybody has a white blouse. But not me.”

Ballard looked over her shoulder to the back seat, where she had various jackets and other clothing.

“How about a hoodie?” she asked. “You have a red or gray hoodie?”

“Yeah, gray,” Stovall said. “I have it right here. Why are you asking about my clothes?”

“Because I’m going to take your place. Wear the gray hoodie when you come to Starbucks.”

“Okay.”

“What’s the length and color of your hair?”

“Jesus. I have short brown hair.”

“Do you have any hats you can wear?”

“I’ve got a Dodgers cap.”

“Perfect. Wear that, and text or call me on this number before you leave. That way I’ll be ready.”

“I’ll text.”

They disconnected. Ballard was concerned that Hannah might do something that would stand out to anyone who had
her under surveillance. But it was too late to worry about it now.

It was now time to call in backup. Ballard felt too alienated from her own department to go inside for help. She was already working without a net and probably providing more fodder for the upcoming Board of Rights hearing. Taking stock of her situation, she noted that her boss was the one trying to fire her, while her partner on the Midnight Men case had been anything but a partner. Lisa Moore had proven herself to be unreliable, lazy, and vindictive.

There was no doubt in Ballard’s mind who she needed to call.

He answered immediately.

“Okay, Harry,” Ballard said. “Now’s when I need you.”

The text from Hannah Stovall came in twenty minutes later. Ballard sent her back a thumbs-up and then waited with her eyes on the sideview mirror. A few minutes went by before she saw the silver Audi emerge from North Citrus Avenue and turn right on Melrose. Ballard checked the car as it went by and caught a glimpse of the driver wearing a blue Dodgers cap.

Ballard’s eyes went back to the sideview and she waited and watched. She let two minutes go by. No follow car emerged from Citrus. Ballard pulled out and gunned it down Melrose in an effort to catch up to the Audi, but a traffic signal at Cahuenga undid her. When she finally pulled into the parking lot at Pavilions she had to cruise down two aisles before spotting the Audi. She then caught a glimpse of a woman wearing a Dodgers cap entering the supermarket with a reusable shopping bag that looked weighted with belongings.

Ballard parked and quickly moved to the store’s entrance. Covid protocols dictated that one door was an entrance, and the exit was on the other side of the front facade. Ballard entered and found the Starbucks concession immediately inside the entrance. There was a line of four people, with the woman with the weighted shopping bag in last position. Ballard checked the others in line, saw nothing suspicious and joined.

“Hannah,” she whispered. “I’m Renée.”

Stovall turned to look at her, and Ballard discreetly flashed her badge and put it away.

“Okay, so now what?” Stovall said.

“Let’s get coffee,” Ballard said. “And talk.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry. But you will be completely safe now. Let’s wait till we’re sitting down to talk about the plan.”

Soon they were at a table off the side of the Starbucks counter.

“Okay, I have another investigator on his way,” Ballard said. “He’s going to take you to a hotel where you can check in and spend the night. He’ll be on guard the whole time. And hopefully this will all be over by morning.”

“Why did these men pick me? I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“We’ve tracked them through their patterns, but we don’t know all the answers yet. That just means we’ll find all of that out when we catch them. And thanks to you being vigilant in your neighborhood and noticing the streetlight, we are in our best position to do that now.”

“It was hard to miss. Like I said, it shines in my window at night.”

“Well, we got very lucky that you noticed it. So, while we’re waiting for my colleague, can I ask you about some of your routines?”

Ballard started going through the questions that were contained in the survey given to the other victims of the Midnight Men. She knew most of these by heart and didn’t need an actual copy of the questionnaire. Soon it became clear that Stovall was even more of an outlier than Cindy Carpenter up in the Dell. Though Stovall lived reasonably close to the first two victims, their worlds didn’t seem to intersect anywhere, other than favoring some of the same local restaurants. During the pandemic Stovall was working
from home and rarely left the house except to shop for food. She didn’t even pick up food to go from restaurants, choosing instead to get home delivery. Home delivery had been a subject of interest early in the investigation because the first two victims used it from time to time. But the investigators learned they used different services, and a review of their transactions determined that they had never been served by the same driver.

It was when it came to her personal life that Ballard scored a connection between Stovall and the other victims. Stovall had never been married but she had been in a long-term relationship that had ended badly. Her partner had been furloughed from his job, and tensions rose when Stovall had to work from home like most of the rest of the world.

“I was on Zooms and calls all day and it sort of reminded him of what he had lost,” Stovall said. “He started to resent me for not losing my job and for being the one who brought in the money. We argued all the time and soon the house wasn’t big enough for the two of us. I own the house so I asked him to leave. It was awful. And talking about it is awful too.”

“I’m sorry,” Ballard said.

“I just wish this was over.”

“You’re going to get through it. I promise.”

Ballard looked around for Bosch but didn’t see him. She also looked for any man who might be watching them. She saw no one who drew her attention.

“What is your ex’s name?” she asked.

“Really?” Stovall said. “Why do you need to know that?”

“I need all the information I can get. It doesn’t mean it all fits or is important.”

“Well, I don’t feel comfortable giving out my ex-boyfriend’s name. I’m finally in a place where we can text each other without resorting to calling each other names. And this would totally
fuck that up if you went knocking on his door to make sure he wasn’t one of the Midnight Men. I can assure you he’s not. He’s not even in town right now.”

“Where is he?”

“Cancún, I think. Somewhere in Mexico.”

“How do you know that?”

“He texted me, saying he was going to Mexico. I assume Cancún, because we went there once and he loved it.”

“So he wasn’t worried about Covid and going to a foreign country?”

“I asked him that. I didn’t even know you could fly in and out of Mexico at the moment. I told him he better not bring Covid back to the company.”

“You mean you work together?”

“Well, we did till the pandemic came. Then he got furloughed and I was kept on. That led to some real brawls.”

“He got physical?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. Just some knock-down-drag-out
verbal
fights. We never got physical.”

“But he’s now back in the workplace with you?”

“The department hired him back, yeah. We work at the same place technically, but I’m a designer so I’m working from home. Gilbert is a field engineer and he goes in. That’s why I said you better not bring Covid back with you.”

“Was he trying to make you jealous, telling you he was going to Mexico?”

“No, I don’t think so. He couldn’t find his bathing suit and he was just asking if he had left it at the house.”

“Was it weird that he was taking a vacation after coming back from being furloughed?”

“Yeah, a little. I was surprised. But he told me it was just a long weekend. An impromptu kind of thing because some guys
were going and somebody had a place down there. I didn’t really ask questions. I looked for his bathing suit, then texted him that I didn’t have it, and that was it.”

Ballard looked around again, wondering what was taking Bosch so long. But he was there, standing near the pickup counter, waiting to be called into the conversation. Ballard waved him over and introduced him. Bosch pulled a chair away from another table and sat down.

“Okay, so we’re all here,” Ballard said. “Hannah, this is what we want to do. I’m going to be you for the night, and you get to stay at a nice hotel with Harry watching over you. I’m going to borrow your hat and borrow your car and go back to your house. If they’re watching, they’ll think it’s you coming home. Then I’ll be inside waiting and ready if they make a move. I’ll be able to call in backup anytime I need it.”

“Do I have any say in it?” Stovall asked.

“Of course. I need your permission to do this. Is there something wrong?”

“Well, for starters there are two of them, right? And only one of you.”

Bosch nodded. He had voiced the same concern when they had talked on the phone.

“Well, like I said, I can call backup if I need it,” Ballard said. “And we know from the other cases that one always comes in on his own, secures the victim, then lets the other in. So I just have to worry about them one at a time, and I like my chances with those odds.”

“Okay, I guess. You’re the police.”

“I’m going to grab a few things so it will look like I was shopping and then I’m going to leave. I just need the keys to your car and house. You and Harry will wait ten minutes just to be sure and then you two can go as well.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any night routines I should know about?”

“Not really, I don’t think.”

“What about showering? Do you prefer mornings or nights?”

“Definitely mornings.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

“Do you usually have the TV on?”

“I’ll watch the news. CNN, Trevor Noah, that’s about it.”

“Okay. I’m going to grab a few things to put in the bag and then I’ll go.”

Ballard went to the door, grabbed a handbasket from a stack, and walked into the produce section, where she started selecting apples and oranges in case she needed sustenance while on the vigil ahead. Soon Bosch was standing next to her.

“For the record, I’m not happy about this,” he said.

Ballard looked past him to make sure Stovall was still in place at the table by the Starbucks concession.

“You’re worrying too much, Harry,” she said. “I’m calling backup the moment I hear something. They’ll be there in two minutes.”

“If they come. You’re doing this completely off the books, and coms won’t know what the hell you’re doing if you call for help.”

“I have to work it this way because I
am
off the books. And I’m not about to hand this off to somebody who deep down doesn’t even care about the case or its victims. Somebody who would rather use the case to get even than solve it.”

“She’s not the only one you can bring in and you know it. You just want to do this on your own, no matter the level of danger it puts you in.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration, Harry.”

“It’s not, but I know you’re not going to change your mind. So I want you calling me every hour on the hour, you copy that?”

“I got it.”

“Good.”

Ballard put a sweet potato in the basket and decided she had enough to make it through the night if necessary.

“I’m going to check out and head over to her house.”

“Okay. Remember, every hour on the hour.”

“Got it. And if you spend any time with her, ask about her ex-boyfriend.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know — something feels off. I got the same feeling with Carpenter’s ex. Hannah’s ex took a long weekend in Mexico after being laid off for most of last year. Feels kind of convenient to me.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Anyway, I gotta get going.”

She turned toward the checkout counters, took a few steps, and then turned back.

“Hey, Harry, you remember the other night when we joked about me going private and working with you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What if it wasn’t a joke?”

“Uh … well, that would be good with me.”

Ballard nodded.

“Okay,” she said.